


A Friendly Interrogation

by wig_powder



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Obsidian Order, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23922646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wig_powder/pseuds/wig_powder
Summary: Bashir learns a little more about Garak's past. And to think it all came about because of a sneeze...
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	A Friendly Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains spoilers for events from Season 2 (though if you're in the DS9 section, there's a good chance you already know about them), and major discussion of a big twist from Season 5. However, that section is all after the second set of asterisks, so you can just skip that section if you'd rather not be spoiled.

Julian Bashir looked across the table at Garak, wondering yet again how he had wound up in this situation. He’d thought trying to learn more about Garak would be some sort of great accomplishment, that proving he was a Cardassian spy would make the other officers take Bashir more seriously. The original lunch invitation had been a cover to try to learn more about the supposed tailor, something Bashir could use to continue his investigation. But one lunch turned into another, until it was now a weekly thing where they were more likely to be discussing literary technique than they were matters of espionage. Of course, the incident with Garak’s implant had revealed that Garak had indeed once been a spy, so at least Bashir could reassure himself that his assumptions hadn’t been too far off the mark.  
  
“What is it, Doctor?” Garak asked, interrupting Bashir’s train of thought, “Have I left a bit of food on my face?”  
  
"Oh, no, no,” Bashir said quickly, “I was just thinking, that’s all.”  
  
“Ah, very good, on both counts,” Garak said with a smile, “A tailor must always look impeccable, and thinking is always to be encouraged.”  
  
Bashir chuckled and reached for the pepper shaker—his soup needed a little seasoning. “Well then, tell me what you _think_ about the book I lent you.”  
  
Garak immediately went into a very polite tirade about Dostoyevsky’s perspective on criminals, which Bashir listened to intently, mentally preparing rebuttals to as many of the arguments as he could. As often happened when one or both of them got impassioned, he lost track of everything but the conversation. A firefight could have broken out on the Promenade and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.  
  
“And Inspector Petrovich would have been laughed out of the Cardassian Investigative Branch if he’d approached a case the way he…Doctor, don’t you think that’s quite enough spice?”  
  
Bashir returned to reality immediately, looking down and realizing that he’d inadvertently poured at least a quarter of the shaker into his soup. Startled, he scrambled to set the shaker down, but in the process, his arm knocked against the bowl, sloshing the liquid and apparently sending some of the pepper into the air, if the sudden burning in his nose was any indication. “Oh, damn,” he said, grabbing onto his napkin in preparation, “I’m so sorry, Garak, I need a moment.”  
  
The urge to sneeze didn’t take long to materialize, and Bashir closed his eyes, waiting. “ _Hih…hehh…_ ” Finally, the sneezes struck, and he lifted the napkin to his face just in time. “ _Hip-tshh! Ik-tchh! Et-kshh!_ ”  
  
Once he was sure there weren’t any more sneezes forthcoming, he rubbed his nose and set the napkin aside. “I’m sorry,” he said again, finally looking back at Garak, “I hope I didn’t wind up sending some of that pepper your way…”  
  
His voice trailed off when he saw the expression on Garak’s face. He had his head cocked to one side, looking at Bashir intently through slightly narrowed eyes. “Garak?” Bashir said, slightly unnerved.  
  
“My apologies, Doctor,” Garak said, immediately straightening up, “Just a reflex.”  
  
“A reflex?” Bashir said, “Do Cardassians regularly watch others sneeze?”  
  
“Certain Cardassians do,” Garak answered, “We’re trained to do it, in fact.”  
  
“Trained to…why would the Obsidian Order be interested in sneezing?”  
  
“Oh, come now, Doctor, you of all people should understand the power behind a sneeze!”  
  
“It’s…it’s a useful tool for clearing out irritants,” Bashir said, completely at a loss as to what Garak could mean, “Though it’s also a potential source of infection.”  
  
“Yes, yes, that’s the medical side of things,” Garak said, waving a hand impatiently, “But what about the psychological side?”  
  
“Er…I’ve heard that sneezing can sometimes reflect a person’s personality…?”  
  
“Goodness, what _do_ they teach you at Starfleet Medical?” Garak said, “We were taught that a sneeze and the leadup to it are some of the few moments when a person’s guard is nearly completely dropped. When you know what to look for, you can figure out their strengths and weaknesses, and then proceed accordingly. The Obsidian Order starts all interrogations by making our target sneeze. That way, we know which techniques to use going forward.”  
  
Bashir’s eyes widened. It actually made perfect sense the way Garak described it. If most people were paralyzed in the moments before a sneeze, then it stood to reason that they’d be powerless to stop certain emotions from flickering across their face as well. No wonder the Obsidian Order would want to use that to their advantage!  
  
Then he saw Garak smiling faintly at him and immediately became suspicious. “You’re just making this up, aren’t you? You know I’ll pounce on any mention of your time as a spy, and wanted to have a joke at my expense.”  
  
“Your distrust of me is admirable,” Garak said, “But this particular fact happens to be true.”  
  
“All right, then,” Bashir said, folding his arms on the table, “What did I just reveal to you?”  
  
“Plenty, Doctor, though I’d already figured out quite a bit for myself. However, I don’t wish to give an incomplete report.”  
  
“What do you mean, incomplete? Three sneezes weren’t enough for you?”  
  
“Not if I can’t see your whole face. Our subjects usually have their hands bound so we can get a good look at every detail of the sneeze. And also to prevent them from attacking us, but that’s just common sense.”  
  
Bashir sighed. “I see your point. But I’m just so used to covering my nose and mouth, especially in public. Doctor’s training, I suppose.”  
  
“Oh, very much so,” Garak said, “Using whatever’s at hand to cover the sneeze suggests politeness and concern for others, although anybody could figure that out.”  
  
He set down his utensils and leaned in, lowering his voice. “If you truly wish for me to learn your secrets, Doctor, then you can come to my shop this evening, where it won’t be as public and we might be able to curb your covering impulse. The shop closes at nine; I’ll wait until nine-thirty. But I won’t be offended if you decide it’s too personal.”  
  
Before Bashir could respond to that, Garak got to his feet. “Thank you for a most entertaining lunch. Though I’m afraid we’ll have to pick up our discussion of _Crime and Punishment_ at our next get together.”  
  
“That’s all right,” Bashir said, “It gives me time to figure out the best way to disagree with you.”  
  
Garak laughed lightly and walked off. Bashir gathered up their dishes and returned them to the replicator, turning things over in his mind. He still wasn’t sure Garak was telling the truth, but the fact that he was offering to continue this line of discussion was intriguing. It was certainly more than he usually got out of Garak, and that alone was enough for Bashir to want to press the advantage. Besides, there was a good chance that Garak was testing him; if Bashir didn’t see this through, he might be denied future lines of inquiry. And even if he was already privy to a fair bit about Garak’s past, it was hard to quell his desire to get the full story. Therefore, by the time Bashir made it back to the Infirmary, he had already made up his mind that he’d be taking Garak up on his offer.

***

When Bashir’s shift ended for the evening, instead of heading directly to Garak’s shop, he stopped by Quark’s and had a drink, partially to steady the nerves that had been gradually building all afternoon but also to throw off any suspicion of his activities. He wasn’t exactly sure _why_ he felt that was important, but it just seemed appropriate. Perhaps Garak was rubbing off on him.  
  
At 2117 hours, Bashir left Quark’s and approached the tailor shop, trying his damndest not to look around suspiciously. Spy business or not, there was such a thing as going overboard. Fortunately for him, Garak had kept the lights of the shop on, so no one would think twice about the fact that Bashir was pressing the door chime for the shop. Even more fortunately, Garak opened the door immediately. “Ah, come in, Doctor. I’m delighted you decided to allow me the chance to examine _you_ for a change.”  
  
Bashir chuckled and stepped inside. “How are we going to go about this, then?”  
  
“This way,” Garak said, leading Bashir to one of the changing rooms, “Just to ensure a little more privacy.”  
  
“Of course,” Bashir said, pushing aside the curtain, “What now?”  
  
“That depends on you. I’m sure covering your sneezes is an ingrained habit for you at this point. Would sitting on your hands allow you to resist the impulse, or will I have to truly make it reminiscent of the old days and tie your hands behind you?”  
  
“I don’t think we need to go that far just yet,” Bashir said dryly, obligingly sitting down on his hands, “It might go against my instincts, but I can fight them if necessary.”  
  
“Splendid,” Garak said, disappearing from view, “Now then, we used a specific powder for this in the Order, but I’m afraid I don’t have any of it on hand.”  
  
Bashir wasn’t sure if he was surprised by that or not. “What do you propose to use, then?”  
  
“This,” Garak said, reentering Bashir’s line of sight and holding up a wispy, pale blue feather, “It’s a Tibonian Thrush feather, perfect for accessorizing ladies dresses. I always keep a box of them in my shop.”  
  
“How do you know that will work?” Bashir said, “They can’t exactly be an allergen, or you wouldn’t use them in your clothing. Shouldn’t you choose something that you know has some potency?”  
  
Garak stood next to Bashir, twirling the feather between his thumb and forefinger. “Just allow me to do my work, Doctor. I’ve learned how to make do with what I have over the years. This will suit our purposes just fine, I assure you. Now then, let’s see…”  
  
He looked Bashir over for a moment, then ran the feather down the bridge of Bashir’s nose before tracing the rims. Bashir involuntarily wrinkled his nose at the sensation, though there was no accompanying discomfort on the inside of his nose. “Garak, that’s not…”  
  
“Hush,” Garak said, “I know what I’m doing.”  
  
He continued to trace Bashir’s nose with the feather, occasionally brushing it back and forth just under his nose. But other the occasional prickle, Garak wasn’t even coming close to making Bashir sneeze. After at least a minute had passed, Bashir finally spoke up again, “Garak, this isn’t wor…”  
  
At that moment, Garak flipped the feather upwards and stuck it directly up Bashir’s nose, spinning the feather back and forth as he did so. Immediately, the urge to sneeze roared to life, and Bashir’s words were cut off by a gasp instead. “ _Kehhh…_ ”  
  
The last thing he saw before his eyes were forced closed was Garak’s smirk. “ _Ek-SHH!_ ”  
  
His body jerked forward slightly with the strength of the sneeze, his fingers reflexively curling underneath him. Before he could fully recover from that, he felt the feather being slowly pulled from his nose, the barbs tickling every sensitive spot on their way out, and his breath started hitching. “ _Ih…ehh…hehhh…_ ”  
  
A hand grabbed onto his shoulder and pinned him against the changing room wall, applying enough force that Bashir swore he lost all feeling in that arm. The tip of the feather was spun around the inside of his nose once more, and then…  
  
“ _Kpshh!_ ”  
  
“Very good, Doctor,” Garak said, removing both the feather and his hand simultaneously, “I think I have more than enough data now.”  
  
Bashir opened his eyes and finally lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes and nose, only to find Garak offering up a bright orange piece of cloth. “A remnant from one of my latest shirts,” he explained, “At least this way, it can be used for something.”  
  
Bashir took it gratefully and rubbed the cloth against his nose, soothing away the lingering itch. “What was all that about?” he said, gesturing to his shoulder.  
  
“It served the dual purpose of making sure you wouldn’t use your hands while also keeping your body still enough that I could closely examine your face,” Garak replied, “We didn’t have that luxury in the Order—the subjects knew what was coming after the first sneeze—but I thought I might as well do a thorough job of it, to satisfy both of our curiosities.”  
  
“Don’t keep me in suspense, then,” Bashir said, setting down the makeshift tissue, “What did you find out?”  
  
“Well, let’s see,” Garak said, pondering Bashir for a moment, “You don’t naturally fight against your sneezes, which suggests you’re not a particularly shy person, a fact I think we can both agree is true. There’s a very small gap between buildup and release, and your breath comes quickly, which speaks to your efficiency, or, as a negative, flightiness. However, since you’re mostly frozen in place when the sneeze strikes, you also know when it’s important to stop and focus on what’s important. What I find most interesting, however, is your method of sneezing. You let it out freely instead of stifling, but you also clench your teeth, reducing the amount of spray that comes out of your mouth. I would say that your body is compromising—an unrestrained sneeze to avoid the dangers of stifling, but with just enough precaution to try to limit the spreading of germs. It’s a clever way to deal with two contradicting pieces of advice, and that in turn says that you’re an intelligent person very capable of solving difficult problems. And of course, the fact that your sneezes are powerful enough to jerk you forward says that there’s pent up energy inside you. Or at least that you need to put on a little muscle so the results aren’t quite as dramatic.”  
  
Bashir turned it all over in his head, then looked up at Garak with an admiring smile. “That all sounds about right to me. You _are_ good at this, Garak.”  
  
Garak waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not a hard man to read, Doctor. But please don’t take that as an insult; your openness can serve you well. Had this been an actual interrogation, we probably would have used a gentle hand with you, partially because you would likely give up information more easily that way and partially because it would have been clear that you had very little to hide.”  
  
Bashir arched his eyebrows. “I’m not sure that’s a trait to be proud of, honestly.”  
  
“You’d be surprised,” Garak responded with a slight smile, “Now then, I have to close up my shop for the evening, and I’m sure you have things to do as well. We’ll be having our usual lunch next week, I presume?”  
  
“Of course,” Bashir said, getting to his feet and picking up his used tissue on the way, figuring it was only polite for him to dispose of it himself, “Until then.”  
  
He was almost to the door when the thought occurred to him, and he turned back. “Garak? How do _you_ sneeze?”  
  
Garak’s back was to him, but Bashir just _knew_ the Cardassian was smirking. “Now, really, Doctor, do you think I’ll give up my secrets that easily? Besides, I’ve already revealed quite enough tonight.”  
  
“It was worth a try.” Bashir said with a faint chuckle, and left Garak to his own devices.

***

_Two years later…_  
  
Bashir opened the door to Garak’s shop, a tissue pressed to his face in preparation. “ _Ih…Ik-schh!_ ”  
  
“Bless you, Doctor!” Garak said from somewhere nearby, “Are you all right?”  
  
Bashir sniffed and entered the shop. “Mostly. I just finished treating a visiting Sujerian who was absolutely _drenched_ in some sort of cologne. The scent didn’t really agree with me, as you can see, so I’ve chosen to take an early lunch while the rest of my staff airs the Infirmary out. I came by to…to… _tishh!_ …to see if you wanted to join me.”  
  
“With pleasure, Doctor,” Garak answered, inserting a pin into his latest jacket, “After you.”  
  
They made their way to the replimat, Bashir still sneezing sporadically. The itch seemed to be dissipating with each sneeze, but he chose to avoid any dishes with spice, just in case. He’d just set his tray down at the table when another sneeze hit him. “ _Eh…Ep-shh!_ ”  
  
As he lowered the tissue, he saw Garak looking him over, smiling faintly and shaking his head. “What is it this time?” Bashir asked, taking his seat, “Did that last sneeze just reveal another facet of my personality?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Garak said, “Though you’re right that that was where my mind had gone to. I’m just not sure whether to apologize to you or congratulate you.”  
  
“For what?” Bashir said, hand hovering over his sandwich. He knew Garak well enough at this point that he knew Garak would actually answer the question, even if said answer didn’t make a great deal of sense.  
  
“While my analysis of your sneeze several years back was mostly accurate, I must confess that I underestimated you. I saw what I expected to see, and didn’t recognize that sometimes, there can be a double meaning in an action, as in words.”  
  
“Meaning…?”  
  
“Meaning that your sneezes reveal that you’re intelligent…but I didn’t realize just _how_ intelligent. We reveal a lot of our true selves when we sneeze, but we can be trained to do certain things, like cover our faces. And sometimes, that training is almost subconscious. If, for example, someone knew they had a secret they needed to keep, but felt a little guilty about it, they might adopt a sneeze such as the one you have, one that’s restrained but lets just enough out to be considered ‘normal’.”  
  
“Oh.” Bashir said flatly, “That.”  
  
“Yes, ‘that’. Don’t sound so put out, you should be proud! Even Enabran Tain wasn’t able to figure out that you were genetically engineered. Pulling the wool over the eyes of the head of the Obsidian Order is quite a feat.”  
  
“I suppose,” Bashir said, “But honestly, I wish people would stop bringing it up. I’m glad I don’t have it hanging over my head on the one hand, but now…” he sighed, “People are going to gossip about me. Some people aren’t going to trust me. It’s going to inform everything I do, especially my accomplishments. I’ll accept it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  
  
Garak reached out and patted Bashir’s wrist. “I believe I can understand that. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll leave it out of our lunches from now on. We can continue to disagree on literature while you tease out fragments of my past instead.”  
  
Bashir smiled at that. “That would be perfect.”  
  
Garak inclined his head and turned the conversation to other matters. They were in the middle of discussing the merits of wool vs. cashmere when Nurse Jabara came to inform Bashir that the Infirmary was safe to enter again. “Duty calls,” he said, rising to his feet, “Thank you for joining me.”  
  
“Of course, Doctor,” Garak said pleasantly, “I’m always happy to oblige.”  
  
Bashir carried his dishes back to the replicator and was just about to make his way to the Infirmary when a hand lightly caught his sleeve. “One last thing, Doctor…”  
  
Bashir turned back to Garak curiously. Garak crooked a finger, signaling Bashir to lean in closer. Once Bashir did so, Garak murmured;  
  
“Once Obsidian Order agents are taught how to read a sneeze, they’re also taught how to stifle completely, even when their hands are bound. That way, they give away nothing except that they know how the game is played.”  
  
Bashir stared at him. Garak’s smile widened. “Think of it as a reward for fooling me. If you can conceal, I can be honest.”  
  
“I have my doubts about that,” Bashir said, even as he smiled back, “But thank you.”  
  
He made his way back to the Infirmary, shaking his head. He’d probably never fully understand Garak, but perhaps that was for the best. Trying to figure the Cardassian out would give him a perpetual challenge, if nothing else.


End file.
